


Constellations

by Sp00py



Series: Constellations [1]
Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Blood, Gen, Mentions of War, Near Death, Pain, and i've barely seen this show, everyone is awkward, they're also a little gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: Tempest Storm feels out of place in Equestria. She's not alone.
Relationships: Princess Luna & Tempest Shadow| Fizzlepop Berrytwist (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic)
Series: Constellations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909372
Kudos: 8





	Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> [doceo_percepto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto) is the closest I come to fact-checking and has patiently endured me going "wtf???? _wtf????_ " as we watch FiM: the good parts version.

The moon is bright tonight. Heavy, white, and blank. It looks like an eye staring blindly down across Equestria. Once, there was a mare up there. When she was still Fizzlepop, she’d talk to that comforting shade. She’d seek advice from the silent night, as the moon waxed and waned and never spoke back but also never left her alone.

Tempest Shadow misses the moon, now that she’s down here. But that’s a selfish thought. Everyone knows the story of Nightmare Moon and Princess Luna, and it’s  _ good _ that she’s back with those who love her. She’s not alone.

Neither is  _ she _ , Tempest reminds herself as she settles into the cool grass of the hill. She might have even spoken that aloud, in an angry whisper. She has friends. She has Twilight Sparkle, and that little dragon, and the others.

But… they’re not really _her_ friends, are they? They’re not cruel, by any means. They’re so kind, and loving, and welcoming and… And Tempest doesn’t know what to do with that. They talk about parties, about adventures, about saving the world and learning and growing into rulers and leaders. Her stories are about bitterness, training grounds, missions, and long, long, long ago children she knows can’t be blamed for being children and acting as children do. Tempest had met them, the friends she’d had as a child, now adults like her who had led such different lives. It had been awkward. Everyone apologizing, yet nobody at fault, and vague promises to keep in touch that nobody planned to follow up.

The fact that Twilight Sparkle had thought that a rousing success reminds Tempest Shadow of how  _ young _ the princess is. Tempest wonders if Twilight realizes she’ll have to see her own friends grow old, and die, and their children and their children’s children follow. She doesn’t envy the princess her role.

A hoof paws idly at the grass, digging down under the flowers to turn over pallid roots and wriggling, black bugs that glisten in the moonlight. She pats the grass down again, returning them to their comforting darkness. The night is alive, in a way that the daytime could never be. Fireflies dance, and in the nighttime they’re stars. During the day, they’re just bugs, too many legs, dark and crawling. The moonlight hides their ugly parts. Tempest suspects that’s why she enjoys the night so much, too.

She turns her gaze heavenward, towards that swollen moon. It feels silly now that its mare is literally only a few miles away, but Tempest feels like her name -- a maelstrom of  _ something _ . Discontent? Numbness? Ennui? It frustrates her, whatever it is. Words don’t come to her mouth, but she’d never used words aloud to speak before. Not when there were others sleeping next to her, bunk after bunk of storm creature snoring, or when she was hiding and praying to not be discovered, or in so much pain, physical and emotional.

But though she doesn’t speak, she can take comfort. She can imagine the moon understands.

The grass crunches quietly behind her, and Tempest whips around, horn down and crackling with energy, ready to defend herself -- 

No, she doesn’t have to do that anymore. And it would be especially bad to attack this pony, once she picks her out from the hazy mingling of light and shadows.

Tempest turns her attack stance into an awkward bow.

“Princess Luna,” she mutters into the grass as sparks from her broken horn fizzle away on the cool stalks of grass.

“Fizzlepop Berrytwist?” Luna says, as though not entirely sure that is her name. Tempest blushes, knowing the disconnect between her appearance and her name.

“Tempest is fine…. Your excellency,” she adds, not sure if that’s the right way to refer to a princess. It was something the Storm King liked to make her say. She hopes his excellency enjoyed falling over that balcony and shattering into pieces.

“Which do you prefer?”

Tempest straightens, and her eyes narrow in confusion. “What do you mean, your excellency?”

“I would like to call you by the name  _ you _ want. And you can call me Luna. You don’t have to say your excellency.”

“Of course, your Luna. Luna.” Tempest doesn’t answer her earlier question, and they stare awkwardly at each other. “I’ve been Tempest Shadow for longer than I was Fizzlepop Berrytwist,” she says finally. They both know that’s not an answer, but Luna doesn’t press it.

“You don’t sleep at night, Tempest?”

“I prefer the night.”

Tempest has never made anyone  _ happy _ before, and she hadn’t planned to do so with that comment, but Luna’s eyes widen and her teeth flash and that is a smile, directed at her. Tempest doesn’t know what to do with that information.

“So few ponies do.”

“I know. I like being alone.”

And just like that, the smile disappears. “Oh!” Luna says, taking a hesitant step back. “Would you like me to…?”

It takes a moment for Tempest to realize what she’s asking, even as her wings beat gently, readying an escape. “No! Not -- I mean. I’m never really alone, am I?” she begins, words stumbling over each other to not displease the princess, heartbeat frantic. Tempest doesn’t want to be sent away, or hurt those who accepted her despite all she’d done. And she’d been trapped in that black rock, too. Tempest knows exactly what she did to the princess. “I like the moon. Everywhere I went, it was always there. Even when you left -- which I’m glad you did! You didn’t deserve to be trapped, but I did miss seeing you. The moon. The mare in the moon, that is. I didn’t know it was  _ you _ you. You don’t have to leave. Unless you want to, I mean. You probably have work to do.”

Luna’s smile returns, shy but  _ there _ , and Tempest lets her rambling fade with a breath of relief. She’s no good at conversation.

“I do,” Luna allows, even as she steps closer. “Have work, that is. But I saw you and was surprised, is all.”

“What… is your work?” Tempest asks tentatively, because the silence between them doesn’t seem companionable. It feels anticipatory, like the conversation isn’t supposed to end yet.

“I raise and lower the moon and protect ponies in Equestria from nightmares.”

Tempest doesn’t immediately speak, and the quiet is better as she contemplates this. She’d suffered many, many nightmares after her accident. After so many nights trying to sleep only to wake in blinding terror, she’d come to enjoy the night by necessity. No pony had been there to help her or protect her. “But you were trapped in the moon,” she says, as though Luna had been privy to her thoughts.

Luna looks guilty, and rubs her leg as she glances away. “I’m sorry.”

“Who was doing that while you were trapped?”

“Nobody, I suppose,” Luna says after a moment’s contemplation. “My sister only raised and lowered the moon. Even she has to sleep at some point, and there are so many, I understand why she could only do one over the other.”

“There are so many… You do this alone?”

“Yes?” Luna tries, as though  _ she _ is worried about upsetting Tempest. A princess worried about upsetting a broken, useless unicorn.

A huff of laughter escapes before Tempest thinks about it, but it doesn’t sound kind, and Luna’s brows furrow. “When I was younger, I’d have terrible nightmares. About running away from home. About… about this,” she waves vaguely at her scar and her stump of a horn. The stars themselves swinging down to strike her, agony and a strange, sudden silence. Drowning in the darkness of the cave. Even today, Tempest prefers being out in the open air.

“I should have been there.”

Tempest waves away Luna’s words, and points up to the moon. “You were, as much as you could be. You kept me company, when there wasn’t anyone else. Thank you.”

Luna takes a few steps forward, and Tempest freezes, but all she does is lower her head to nuzzle gently against Tempest’s cheek. “You’re welcome. And if you ever do sleep at night, I’ll keep especial watch out for you.”

Then she steps back, and Tempest must look as baffled as she feels, because Luna laughs (not unkindly), and wishes her goodnight. She fades into the boundaries between moonlight and shadow.

Tempest returns to her pawed spot on the ground and contemplates the sky above, sparkling like Luna’s mane. She won’t be getting any sleep tonight. That’s not uncommon, but the reason is very different than before.

* * *

Days and nights pass, and Tempest has no idea what to do with herself. She hasn’t seen Luna again (she’s mostly slept in short spurts, as is her habit after years on her own), but that’s not surprising. Luna is a princess. Tempest is… she isn’t much of anything right now. One has duties, and the other just wanders. Sometimes she’ll linger like a shadow as others play or work, but while Tempest is as adept as any earth pony at doing things, she’s easily frustrated at what once came so easily. They aren’t used to anger, or barked orders, or things being thrown (or exploding) and curse words no pony has ever uttered before.

She’d been given a small room in Ponyville to call her own, and it has a bed, a table, some books she’s borrowed from Twilight and little else. Tempest is a pony of few needs, but the greatest one weighs down on her, all-encompassing. She needs  _ something to do _ .

Instead, she flops in her bed and watches the empty moon rise out of the window, and tries to sleep. She’s not hoping to meet Luna, she’s  _ not _ , but Tempest does in some small part of her mind hope that she has a nightmare or two.

It’s dark, and it’s oppressive. The weight of a mountain hangs above her head, and she is so, so small. Fizzlepop walks, and the ground is wet, viscous. The cave reeks of iron. She won’t think too hard about that. She just has to get her ball and get out. It’s deeper inside. She doesn’t want to go, but she needs her ball. Her friends need her to get it.

Shoulders hunched and head lowered as though that will keep unwanted attention away, Fizzlepop sloshes further in.

There’s light, red and ominous. Shouts, screams, clashing metal and stone and explosions. Just around the curve, and she’ll see it. She doesn’t want to. The liquid is getting deeper, sucking at her legs.

This is bad. Bad, bad, bad, she should turn around. The ball’s not worth it. The Storm King can get his own damn pearl --

A shriek, so different and  _ powerful _ . Tempest’s heart jumps into her throat, and she’s running forward before she realizes it. The cave pours out into a waterfall, disappearing below an ocean of noxious clouds. And, across that swirling sea, an ursa minor large as a mountain rears and bellows. But it’s not the one that shrieked.

A pony, small and dark with a mane like the sky, stands before it, a single breaker trying to hold back an ocean.

The sky is bleeding, the monster’s claws are raised, and Tempest wants to hide, to cover her ears and eyes and not see what she knows is about to happen. But she can’t. Luna can’t suffer like she did, shattered and ruined. Tempest can already imagine feathers spattered with blood, a horn sparking and crumbling away. The moon never rising again. She wanted Luna here, but now that she is, Tempest realizes how selfish that was. She can’t let her fight this alone.

Instead of cowering, Tempest leaps.

The clouds support her weight and flair up in whorls and waves as she charges. She skids past Luna, and arrests the attention of both the bear and the princess.

Her horn is broken, but she can still fight. It’s all she’s done for years.

“Tempest --”

“Princess,” Tempest says, not taking her eyes off the ursa minor. It won’t be like real life. When it swings, she’s ready this time.

She expects an explosion, but nothing happens. Tempest is knocked back not by claws, but by gentle wings. The ursa minor’s great paw glances off of a translucent sphere. It shimmers into nothingness, and Tempest is ready to charge again when a hoof comes to lay gently on her shoulder. “Tempest, please. Look at it.”

Tempest glares. It’s a monster.

“Is it?”

Tempest’s eyes flicker between Luna and the ursa minor. They’re suddenly in a cave, just past boards and warning signs. Fizzlepop refuses to look at the ball on the ground. Though it’s so much less impressive than the fantastical battlefields, she can’t help the stab of terror just being here induces. “I can’t let it hurt you, princess. Not like… Not like me.”

“It won’t.” Luna says it with such certainty, Fizzlepop almost believes her. She glances around again, because the ursa minor hasn’t tried again. The cave is empty but for the two of them. Fizzlepop is sprawled on the ground. When did she fall? When did it attack? Is Luna okay? She can’t see out of one eye, and the other is blurry.

“What is -- Glitter Drops?” A tall pony stands before her, definitely not Glitter Drops, and Fizzlepop cringes back. Her head hurts so much. Nobody’s supposed to be in here. This is  _ her _ horror.

The figure coalesces into Luna, who settles on the ground next to Fizzlepop and draws her under her wing. She’s cool against the fiery, raging pain. Fizzlepop is getting bloodstains on her beautiful wings.

Luna nuzzles her face, and she’s ashamed. Her nightmares are so private, so painful. She doesn’t want to share them, but she aches to. Tempest had been so afraid after the attack. Nobody should have to face the specter of death at that age, but she had. Tears well from her good eye and drip to the cold, hard ground. 

“You’re not alone, now,” Luna murmurs.

“It’s not… it’s not even the attack itself,” Tempest says, still shielded by Luna’s wings. She’s older, her scars are healed, the crackling ache of her horn now a part of everyday life. It’s so much easier to talk to the moon in her head. “The ursa minor was just protecting its home. I know that. They didn’t tell anyone, though. They were afraid they’d get in trouble. We weren’t supposed to be playing here. I wasn’t found for… for too long.”

“Do you blame them?”

Tempest shakes her head vehemently. “I thought I did, but they were children. They were scared.”

“So were you.”

“I thought I was going to  _ die _ here. Have you ever faced death, princess?”

“....Yes,” Luna says hesitantly. Tempest doesn’t pry, but she leans harder against Luna’s flank. So few ponies seem to have this experience.

“I know nobody is to blame for what happened.”

“Not even you.”

Tempest looks across the cave at her broken horn. It sparkles and crackles with wild energy. She had tried to be brave, back then. Fearless. It hadn’t worked. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how brave or strong you are. “Not even me.”

She looks out from the cave, across the destroyed husks of Hippogriffia, airships, and so much more, scattered like so many broken toys. “But I am to blame for that.”

Luna peeks out too, then gives a small laugh. While others might find it morbid, or callous, Tempest is glad she doesn’t have the princess’s pity or disappointment. “One nightmare at a time, Fizzlepop.”

“I think I prefer Tempest. You have more nightmares, though, don’t you? By yourself?”

Luna smiles at her again, and they’re standing suddenly on the hill that Tempest first met her properly. No attacks, no conquest, no obsidian cages. There’s a small yellow ball washed grey by the moonlight. She steps out from underneath Luna’s wing.

“Sleep well, Tempest Storm.”

Tempest bows to Luna, the princess’s silence answer enough. “You too, when you go to bed, Princess. Stay safe.”

And with that, she’s alone. She knocks the ball around, back and forth, keeping her own company. The moon in her dream has the mare in it.

* * *

Tempest wakes before the sun, well-rested for once in her life.

The pony who had lent her the small room is still asleep, so she tiptoes out to greet the dawn. The cool morning sun burns away mist and shades alike, and Tempest hopes that Luna is retiring, safe and sound, in the castle.

As the day begins for other ponies who have lives and jobs that don’t include “commanding an evil army” in the required skills, Tempest finds herself once more at a loss. She’d felt such purpose in her dream, even as the details slip away under the bright eye of the sun.

She is helping to pick up a spilled cart, grabbing each wayward ribbon with her teeth like the earth pony she has to be, when there’s a poof and a shadow. The cart’s owner bows as Tempest turns around, trying to  _ not _ get into a defensive stance.

It’s Princess Luna.

Tempest also bows, quick and low, before she straightens. “Princess Luna. I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Walk with me?” Luna asks, gesturing along an empty path winding through fields outside the town.

“Of course, your --” she cuts herself off. Old habits are hard to break.

With a quick apology to the pony she was helping, Tempest trots over to Luna, whose pace is slow and sedentary. It makes it easy for Tempest, whose legs are much shorter, to keep up.

“Is… something wrong?” Tempest asks once she’s sure nobody is around to hear.

“Not at all!” Luna says immediately, laughter in her voice. “Do people only come to you when something is wrong?”

Tempest thinks of the Storm King, of her superiors, before she’d become second in command. Whether to blame her or get her to fix it… “Generally, yes.”

“Well not today, Tempest. In fact, things are going wonderfully.”

“That’s good,” Tempest says flatly. She’s not sure how to keep idle chitchat going and hopes that Luna gets to the point (if there is one).

“Would you like to work with me?”

Tempest pulls up sharp. That was definitely the point, but she’s sure she misheard. “What?”

“You don’t have to, of course, but, well,” here Luna trails off, a blush on her face. “I’ve never had a pony try to defend  _ me _ against their nightmares. You’re very…. Proactive.”

When she phrases it like that (and Tempest suspects proactive is just a polite way to say aggressive), Tempest can’t help but blush in embarrassment, too. Luna has more power than a damaged unicorn in the real world  _ and _ in dreams. She hadn’t really thought, just acted, and it was a silly thing to try to do.

“You want me to work for you?”

“Well, with me. But yes. If that’s acceptable to you.”

Tempest doesn’t even have to think about it before she’s bowing, as though Luna might retract the offer if she shows even the slightest hesitation. “If you truly believe I can be of assistance, I would be honored to work with you, Princess Luna.”

She straightens, and Luna brushes her horn against Tempest’s broken one. “Until tonight.” Then, with a flap of her wings, she’s off.

Once Luna is gone from sight, Tempest turns back to Ponyville. She’s just joined another war, she feels, and will have to learn what she can of it before it’s on her doorstep. But this time, Tempest has a friend.


End file.
